


Stopped Cold

by Thette



Series: I Just Want Your Extra Time And Your... Kiss [4]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Blood and Injury, First Kiss, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt Leonard Snart, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Leonard Snart Lives, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical, No Sex, Post-Oculus (DC's Legends of Tomorrow), Rated For Violence, Stolen Kisses, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 01:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15853734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thette/pseuds/Thette
Summary: For aTumblr kissing meme: Coldflash - In a rush of adrenaline.Which my brain interpreted as "while one character is suffering from a major physical injury," so here is some major whump, stolen kisses and hurt/comfort.





	Stopped Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/gifts).



> This is written for the lovely Sandrine Shaw, who leaves the very best comments. (I'm bad at replying to comments, but all of them make me grin like a fool and want to write you more stuff. And that goes for all of you.)
> 
> Betaed by Hiver_Frost_Elf and SophiaCatherine.

That son of a bitch had stabbed Len in the back. He had shaken hands with the head of the Santini family, agreed to terms and territories, and when the mafia Don came up for the traditional kiss on the cheek, he drove a knife through Len's parka and up between his ribs instead, pushing it slowly further in, with jolts of pain for every movement. Len had taken the chance to fire the cold gun in retaliation, and not a single one of the mobsters would make it out of this alive. Unfortunately, given how short of breath he was, lady Luck would have to be not only on his side, but pretty much on top of him, if he were to survive.

He coughed up an alarming volume of blood, and fell to his knees. "Lisa," he thought. Her jubilant smile when she won the state figure skating championship flashed through his mind. He remembered how proud he'd been when he held her in a rare embrace, how he lifted her from the ice and spun her around, and how she had kissed the top of his head with a loud smack.

Spinning… His head was spinning… Another raspy breath. More blood. More pain. Another embrace. A faint kiss on his blood stained lips.

"No, stay with me," he heard, distantly. Not Lisa. Not Mick. And then, everything was turned around, and he was somewhere else.

***

Len felt as if he was throwing up, and then realized someone was pulling a thick plastic tube out of his throat. He couldn't move, but something was moving and pulling him along. Not a single muscle reacted to his commands. The only thing he could do was breathe.

Sweet, sweet air, flowing through his sore throat and into his aching chest. He gasped, and more air obligingly went in.

"Nice and easy, there we go, Mr Wynters." He didn't know the voice, but it came from above the rolling bed. He managed to get his eyes to focus on a tall blond man in green scrubs. "Slow breaths."

"Mhmblgl?" he asked, his tongue stuck to the bottom of his dry mouth. He struggled to talk, to think, words and concepts fleeing before he could grasp them.

"You were stabbed, and your lung collapsed. We've stabilized the bleeding and expanded the lung, but you're in for quite a long hospital stay. You were lucky you and that young man of yours were just outside the hospital when you were assaulted."

"What young man?" he wanted to ask, but he couldn't get the words from his brain to his mouth, and he knew damn well he had been nowhere near a hospital for the Santini meeting.

Len relaxed into the hard mattress and let the nurses take him to the recovery room.

***

Once Len had shown that he could move, pee and drink to the satisfaction of the post-op crew, and a chest x-ray had been taken, his bed was rolled to a dark and quiet two bed hospital room, where the other bed was unoccupied. He still had four different tubes restraining him to the bed. The IV line in his neck itched, and he could barely move his head without rattling the IV stand. The _other_  IV line, the one on the back of his hand, was currently not connected to anything, and mostly felt like an unpleasant pressure. The small drainage tube that slowly leaked old blood into a bag hanging from the bed, and the thick tube into his chest cavity, that was connected to a suction machine, were even more constraining and he felt a deep, visceral unease at seeing them. He was in pain, and slightly woozy from the good drugs, but his brain was back online, at least. The machine beside him beeped, with different beeps at different intervals, and it kept him from falling asleep out of sheer annoyance.

A sharp, yellow light lit up the room, and the curtains moved in a sudden gust of wind.

"Hello, Flash," he said, his drawl even slower than usual.

"Snart," Barry said, but he sounded off. He looked around, pulled his cowl down, and marched towards Len's bed. "Don't _ever_ do that again," he said, his voice wobbling. He pointed a shaky finger at Len, and his eyes shimmered in the light from the ECG machine, as if he was on the brink of tears. But that made no sense. Why would Barry, the Flash, be upset about internal mob politics? Was this about Len breaking their deal and killing again? Len tried to get a word in to explain himself, but Barry didn't listen. He was still shaking when he reached out to pat Len's shoulder. Two pats, just with his fingertips, like Len had touched him in Siberia. Then he left, with a whoosh and lightning dancing on his trail.

***

Veronica, one of the night nurses, told him she hoped he didn't feel too bad about missing the costume party.

"Because that Captain Cold costume was amazing," she said. "We had to throw the jacket away, there was no saving it, but you still have your props in the locker."

After some careful prodding and not a little bit of flirting, he found out that he'd been more of less carried into the ER by "your friend Barry, in a spot on Flash costume" (who was, apparently, "very cute, said Jennifer who worked that night"), and that they had supposedly been on their way to a costume party when they were attacked in a back alley.

Len started to put the pieces of the puzzle together. If Barry had been the one to find him and bring him to the ER, the lie was a stroke of genius, and he was actually proud of him for coming up with it. The one thing that didn't make sense was why Barry had chosen to go through with that lie, instead of just dropping him off in a trauma room, like he usually did when he played ambulance instead of police or fireman.

"Veronica," he asked, "I lost my phone when we were robbed. Did Barry leave his number as my emergency contact?"

***

Len used the new phone Lisa had brought him to call the number Veronica had supplied. The person to answer was not the one he expected.

"Yello," Cisco said nonchalantly.

"Cisco," Len replied. "I need answers."

"Cold! And uh, no. I don't owe you anything."

"Well, you're my medical emergency contact now," he said, with as much sarcasm as he could possibly load into something that was absolutely true. "So I say you owe me emergency answers as long as I'm in the hospital."

"That's not how medical emergency contacts work, but it does seem fair. Shoot. No, don't shoot."

"What exactly happened the night I was injured?"

"I can hack the surveillance cameras and send you some footage, but I think you need to talk to…" Cisco halted, but clearly remembered that Len knew Barry's identity. "Just, talk to Barry, okay?"

"The Scarlet Speedster hasn't exactly been weeping at my bedside and, as my mobility is currently limited, I can't initiate contact."

Cisco grumbled some inaudible complaints and hung up.

Three hours later, Len's phone pinged with a link to a video. It was grainy and choppy, without sound, but Len could see himself getting stabbed in timelapse. His mouth formed an O and his eyes were wide and vulnerable when the knife hit home. He doubled over, before straightening up to fire the cold gun, the glare taking over the entire screen. Then he fell to his knees, and then face down on the icy ground. Then lightning, all over the screen. The Flash stopped cold before him, one frame, two frames, three frames. Once again, he was moving. Moving so quickly between each frame that it was hard to follow him. One frame later, he kneeled by Len's side. In the next, he cradled Len's unmoving body. In the next, they were both gone. He went back a frame and paused. While he couldn't make out much of Barry's face, what he saw was clearly not someone disappointed his favorite enemy was hurt. He texted back.

_Cisco, I need to talk to him._

_good luck with that_  
_hes hiding from you_

The two replies came with just five seconds in between, and should clearly have been a single text. He disapproved of the inefficient use of resources. Len sighed, and called Lisa instead.

***

Once again, wind and lightning disturbed his nightly rest.

"Lisa said you wanted to talk to me," Barry said. "Or, well, she threatened to 'gild my balls' if I didn't come here." He stood by the window, silhouetted by the faint moonlight, and Len couldn't see him well enough to read his expression. His body language spoke volumes, though, with his bowed head and the way he gripped his arms across his torso.

"What are you ashamed of, Barry? You saved my life. I owe you one."

Barry said nothing, just seemed to fold in on himself even more, so Len continued, trying to push his buttons, to get a reaction out of him. That was the way they always danced, wasn't it? Len poked and prodded at the sore spots, until Barry gave him the attention he wanted.

"One unspecified heroic act, no questions asked. Call in the favor any time."

"You don't owe me anything," Barry whispered, barely audible over the sounds of the suction device. "Just… Just don't die."

He sat down with a thud on the visitor's chair, and the chair legs slid across the floor, making a noise that was far louder than anything in their conversation. Len knew the value of carefully applied silence, so he waited, not very patiently. He kept his eyes focused on the slumping hero, not letting him get away with anything. Barry raised his head, and looked him straight in the eye. This time, he had been crying. Len lifted an eyebrow.

"You only just got back," Barry said. "I was so happy to see you again, to face off, to play the game." He looked away and smiled sadly. "You've always been my favorite villain, you know."

Len managed to refrain from letting out a sarcastic "Awww," but he had to bite his lip.

"The feeling is mutual," he said instead, for once in his life choosing sincerity. "Can't think of a better nemesis."

Barry let out a choked sound, that could have been laughter or sobbing, and buried his head in his hands. Once again, Len waited. He had nothing but time in this hospital room, and he knew time. Intimately. He had, after all, been a part of the time stream for years before Constantine brought him back.

"I thought you had died again, andImighthavekissedyou," he said, words blurring together with super speed.

"Come again?" Len asked, even though he had understood most of the confession.

Barry got up and started pacing, never looking Len in the eyes. He leaned against the window and spoke again.

"I thought I had lost you, and I was overwhelmed and adrenaline fueled. I kissed you when you were unconscious. I'm so sorry, I never should have done that, and if you want me to leave you alone forever, I will."

"Can't believe you did that," Len said, and Barry winced. "Can't believe you kissed me, and I never got to feel it."

Len might have been just a little bit smug over how his words made Barry turn and gape at him. He smirked.

"Aren't you going to offer to make it up to me?" he asked, voice low and consonants less clipped than in his usual tone.

Before he could see what was happening, he had an armful of speedster, and an eager tongue in his mouth. Len grabbed Barry's hair and took control of the kiss, as much as he could from his precarious position. He bit his lip, tugged his hair, and held him in place with his other hand.

And then he had to let go. "Sorry," he gasped. "Breathing."

Barry just looked at him like he was stunned, with bedhead and kiss swollen lips, and Len wanted nothing more than to take him apart. However, he was a realist, and he knew he needed to recover first.

"As much as I'd like to continue this conversation, Scarlet, I have to ask for a rain check."

Barry blushed, visible even in the low light. "Of course."

"I always tell you not to trust me, but you can trust me on this: Next time, you'll be the one who's out of breath."

He groaned over the bad pun, and leaned in for a quick and chaste kiss, just a touch of his lips on Len's. As he sped towards the door, he stopped and turned.

"I'll have you know, I have excellent stamina. You'll have to work hard to get me winded."

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me on [Tumblr](http://bold-sartorial-statement.tumblr.com), where I am bold-sartorial-statement. I take prompts, but I am not prompt about them.


End file.
